SANTA （DADDY） IS IN THE HOUSE
LACY
Walking into this cabin and seeing Dalton Ford in all his manly glory means I will wear a clown suit if that’s what he wants. I’ve always been particularly fond of his scruffy beard and dark hair just long enough that it falls into his eyes sometimes. I’m not sure I can put a number to how many times I’ve wanted to reach out and brush it back with my fingertips. Pair that with the fact that he towers over me, and I’m putty for his molding.
I close the bedroom door behind me before losing my composure and doing a little shimmy dance about this whole thing. If I read him right, this week might be exactly what I want it to be. Why else would he be picking out clothes for me?
Speaking of, I step over to the bed quickly, and it takes all of two seconds to realize that this definitely confirms what I’m thinking. It’s a Mrs. Claus dress, from the looks of it. But not just any Mrs. Claus dress. It’s a very short, very low-cut, very backless rendition that leaves little to the imagination. Though, it is complete with a Santa hat and another note.
Lacy,
There isn’t a bra or pair of panties in the world that will fit under this.
Unless they’re made of magic. So don’t even try.
xo,
Dalton
It’s probably best I take off my panties at this point because they’re already a little bit wet. Is this really happening? How can you actually tell if you’re dreaming? I swear to the gods if I wake up in the middle of an orgasm, I’m going to be pissed.
I remove my shoes and socks, then start on my pants. As I roll them down over my thighs, I’m thankful I shaved everything—and I do mean everything—before coming today. I’ve always been a thick girl, with meaty thighs and a little belly pooch, but it’s never really hindered me from feeling sexy or getting a man’s attention, for that matter. Can I fit into a size zero? No. No, I can’t. I never have. That’s okay with me, and it’s been okay with literally every man I’ve ever slept with.
After I remove my shirt and bra, I slip on the thin red fabric with fluffy white trim, adjusting it into place. Luckily there’s a floor-length mirror in the corner of this bedroom, and after checking myself out, I’m pleased with what I see.
I noted when he sent me to this bedroom, he called it mine. Which means there’s one that’s his. And the idea of separate bedrooms doesn’t make me happy. I have time to change that, though.
I slide back out into the hallway and walk toward the living room. I noticed the kitchen off to the right when I came in, and I assume that’s where he is. I’ve never really known Dalton to cook, but perhaps that’s because the situations we’ve been in over the years never really called for it. Holidays were often parents and grandparents cooking, and any trips or vacations always resulted in tasty local restaurants. Let’s hope he doesn’t give us both food poisoning before this even begins.
The first thing I see as I round the corner to the kitchen is Dalton’s bare back. Lord have mercy. He’s at the stove, shirtless but not lacking holiday fun. His Santa pants are held up by suspenders, and he’s wearing a hat just like mine.
“What’s for dinner?” I manage to ask without completely succumbing to my rapid breathing.
Dalton turns, clearly surprised by my presence. And that’s when I get an eyeful of the front of his chest in all its muscular glory. To be clear, Dalton isn’t super cut like a bodybuilder. No abs are popping out. He’s super solid and leaves no doubt in my mind that he could pick my thick ass up and fireman carry me a mile if he needed to. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that he’s a volunteer fireman. His actual day job is as a large animal veterinarian. So basically, he’s a saint. A firefighting-doctor-to-innocent-animals saint of a man. And right now, he’s a sexy saint who’s currently invoking all the Santa Daddy vibes this woman can handle.
“You look amazing,” he says. “And this Christmas Eve dinner is simple, as I have something a bit fancier planned for tomorrow.”
He nods to the table as if to silently tell me to have a seat, and there isn’t a bone in my body that wants to defy him.
A few minutes later, he sets down two plates and turns back toward the fridge to grab drinks before sitting down across from me.
Imagine my surprise when the plate in front of me is filled with grilled cheese cut in triangles and a bowl of the most amazing-smelling tomato soup. I should probably mention this is my absolute favorite meal in the world.
“You didn’t,” I say.
“I did,” he says, handing me a can of Diet Coke. Another favorite.
“You’re the best,” I say, reaching for my spoon.
A couple of bites in, he clears his throat and stares at me for a long moment.
“I think I need to say something, Lace,” he says.
I’m mid-bite when I look up at him, slightly nervous. “Okay.”
Dalton inhales deeply and his seriousness makes me a little cagey, but I set my sandwich down and give him my full attention.
“I think our attraction toward each other has always been like the worst-kept secret at the table. Everyone knows it. And yet, we’ve never had a serious moment to talk about what it really means,” he says.
I nod, understanding exactly where he’s coming from.
“We both know we get along. We laugh and talk and even share similar outlooks on life and what we want out of it,” he says.
I nod again, having had these same thoughts myself.
“So what I’d like this holiday to be about is finding out if we’re romantically compatible,” he says before pausing for a moment. “And sexually compatible.”
There’s no stopping the smile on my lips from emerging. I have no chance whatsoever to hide my absolute delight. But given what he’s just told me, the ten-year charade of pretending and masking is over. I don’t have to hide anything anymore, but I play along.
“Well, given what you’ve dressed me in, I can’t say your intentions were all that secret,” I say. “But I’ll take this opportunity to be explicit about my consent. My answer is yes, to whatever you have in store.”
Now his face is the one donning the smile as he nods his head up and down slowly.
“That’s good to know,” he says. “Because my tastes are… wide-ranging.”
And though I’m not quite sure I know what he means by that, I am excited to find out just how wide that range is.